


A Stumble

by Anteros (ToxicBabes)



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Intimacy, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild emotional hurt/comfort, Non-Sexual Intimacy, One Shot, Reference to Pre-Canon, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29140692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicBabes/pseuds/Anteros
Summary: Old memories resurface after Theseus and Asterius reminisce about their past lives. Although in Elysium, nothing is unpleasant for long.
Relationships: Asterius | The Minotaur/Theseus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 57





	A Stumble

**Author's Note:**

> I find the relationship between Theseus and Asterius particularly interesting given how it is portrayed within the game's lore. As for Theseus himself, I'm very much enthralled with his character, especially when his VA posted a short video describing his personality and the concept of self-loathing. I do love a self-aware Theseus who is very toned down and calm outside of the stadium, where he doesn't feel the need to put on a whole show, someone who also holds a level of guilt as well. I'll not spoil the story for you, but please enjoy it!

Theseus had a way with words, whether that be delivering creative insults or telling the turbulent stories of his life. He spoke with an assuredness that Asterius found hard to doubt, his face glowing when he returned to old memories of his feats or just the simple pleasures of his past life. He described the vast vineyards and Asterius could imagine the sound of the leaves whispering in the summer breeze, the rich flavour of the wines and even the warmth of the loamy earth between his toes. 

For Asterius, he had little concept for many of the things Theseus described, his imagination limited to what he experienced in Elysium and the scarce memories of his life. He knew only of the labyrinth, the plain walls with all the twists and turns that led to nowhere, every corridor serving its purpose to drive him deeper into his madness. Though with the way Theseus guided him along, gesturing with his hands and in the wonderful performance of his facial expressions, Asterius felt as if he had escaped to the surface in those moments.

The crashing waves on the coast were nothing like the foggy tributaries of the rivers around these parts and nothing could mimic the sheer strength of the ocean. Despite that, they liked to rest by the banks and listen to the sound of the running water, imagine how the waves would shatter against the rocks and spray them with a fine mist. Theseus tried his best to describe the scents, the seaweed and the salt. Part of Asterius vaguely remembered it, though he much preferred what his mind conjured with the help of Theseus coaxing his imagination.

There were many things Asterius was ignorant of. Friendship was one of them, but he came to learn of it and he had an eternity ahead of him to become acquainted with other concepts as such. Love was a more complicated manner to approach, more so in its many applications that he found himself unable to comprehend it. For family, for companionship, and not exclusive to other people too. One could love the beauty of nature, the act of discovery, the joys of singing and dancing. It was the magnitude of it that overwhelmed him the most.

He figured Theseus had a good notion of it from his stories of his consorts, the mothers of his children. When they came to the conclusion that Asterius was not familiar with all these practices, Theseus took it upon himself to educate him- or rather, describe to him the processes and all the crude details, even if he managed to posit it in a more sophisticated manner. Asterius had never felt the warmth of a lady’s lips before, nor the heat of her loins, though he listened and tried to understand the appeal behind it.

“It is rather wonderful, as grotesque as it can be when it comes out. You watch her belly swell over the months and that is _your_ child growing in her!” Theseus told him and took a long sip from the wineskin before offering him some, to which Asterius refused because he did not want to be distracted from the details. “When you touch her stomach, it’s firm- just like your own muscles, but smooth and rounder.” He had taken Asterius’ palm and pushed it to his tensed abdomen to mimic the sensation, then let go as he reached for the berries they collected. “And your baby will kick against your hand, like this.”

Once again, he took Asterius’ palm and pressed the pad of a sticky thumb against it, mimicking the prodding of a small foot. “Just like that. And to know _you_ made that little thing. It’s beautiful, truly.” Theseus’ smile lingered on his face for a few seconds longer before it faded, the warm memory seeming to have given way to something else and he spat out the hard seeds of the berry. 

Asterius ruminated over this. “It is, King.” Though whether he agreed, he had no idea. It seemed right to. The creation of new life, a gift from the gods, it was something to be celebrated. He had little opinions of his own. It was hard to come up with his own seeing as he spent a majority of his life repeating the same days over and over.

They often went on tangents with the stories. It was hard to stay on track, but Theseus was not concerned with running out of time. A second spent talking about his days in court could lead to a passionate speech about the poets and musicians he adored, and Asterius could not find the heart to remind him to return to their original discussion. Though eventually, they found their way back. 

The stories of venturing into the underworld held them for hours. After their battles in the stadiums, when they rested after training, during a leisurely walk. Wherever it was, Asterius _wanted_ to hear it and the heroic details filled him with greater admiration for his king. There was plenty to say, many battles to retell. At times Theseus told these tales as if they were a casual incident. He did not conjure up the whole bravado and show, mostly because he knew Asterius would still be enchanted regardless. He spoke in a mellow tone, holding a humbleness that he could only show to very few. 

It was the specific response of flickering ears and the sparkle in Asterius’ eyes that spurred Theseus on, this admiration that fed his pride. He continued to drink from the wineskin until he wavered on his feet, pacing aimlessly as he told the stories of glory and victory. He stumbled for a moment before regaining his composure with deft and steady steps as if he had parried a blow. He did not find himself flustered in front of Asterius.

The long grass tickled Asterius’ shins and he pulled at the stems, finding satisfaction in tugging out all the strands and extracting the wispy roots. He looked up when Theseus put a hand on his shoulder and offered him some wine. The flavour was rich and intense, pleasant as with everything in Elysium. The more Asterius drank, the lighter his head grew, though in a relaxing way when he realised they were equally as giddy as one another. 

Eventually, Theseus came to sit beside him, still prattling on about his chthonic adventures. He laid on his back and stretched on the incline of thick tree roots covered in soft moss. Asterius copied him, though laying on his side so he could see his face. He took in the moist scent of nature, cushioning his face from touching the ground by using his arm as a pillow. It was comfortable like this, just the two of them surrounded by nature- the nature which Asterius had been sorely deprived of all his life. 

“And after that, there was your _father_ and Ariadne. You know that story well enough,” Theseus said, almost skirting around it and his eyes had flickered to him to assess his expression. There was not much reaction from Asterius. Even if he did not regard King Minos to be much of a father whatsoever, the paternal terminology did not offend him. He blinked back at Theseus before giving a grunt in affirmation. “You know, I’ve heard all kinds of terrible things. About what your mother did... and what your father did beforehand. All the stuff that led to- to _you_.” 

There was a pause between them. For a second Asterius did not fully realise that he was speaking directly about him. His past was long ago, almost forgotten to him now that he could enjoy the splendours of Elysium. From the solemn look on Theseus’ face, they recalled these memories differently. Though Asterius knew it was mostly because he had stowed away any recollection of his life, severed all notion that he had ever experienced such cruelty and for the longest time he refused to acknowledge it. That was, until now.

“They called you this horrible beast and I truly, _truly_ believed in it. That you ate children, tore them limb from limb and feasted on them,” Theseus continued, speaking with honesty. There was not an ounce of disdain nor pride in his voice, but pity. He wished it weren’t true, but from Asterius’ quietness and his avoidant gaze, he knew it was true. “And I told myself, if I were to slay you, how much fame and glory it would bring me. I hadn’t considered for a moment what you were or who you were. I just kept telling myself I would be a hero.” 

Asterius raised his eyes. “You are, my king,” he reminded him in a quiet tone, his voice deep. 

“Yes, but the part where I vanquish you has become a mere afterthought, but I suppose nothing really compares to venturing into the underworld.” Theseus thought about it for a moment before continuing to speak. “And it really was never the battle I said it was, so if anything, I guess it’s… good my memory is not built upon this.” 

The truth was kept between them, a secret held out of respect for one another. While the tales preserved Asterius to be a powerful beast consumed by darkness and Theseus to be the valiant hero who slain him after enduring a long battle, what occurred between them was not. He had reached the lair in the labyrinth and found the ragged beast, malnourished and grown long like a plant desperate for light. 

The air was stagnant with the odour of decay. Splintered bone and stone crunched underfoot and Theseus had forced himself to step further into the thick darkness, a fist balling the clew and the other clutching his sword. He kept his eyes trained on the monster before him and they circled the chamber, keeping their distance. It was hard to parse Asterius’ behaviour, he did not look to be ravaged by anger and wrath. Theseus came to learn that this was fear and confusion after so many years of being tormented by loneliness, the pain of imprisonment that made Asterius unable to recognise his redeemer, the man who would free him from these walls.

And when they had clashed, when Theseus realised that Asterius was not willing to fight back, but yielding before him, the weight of his conscience made it almost impossible. Had Asterius been delirious in that moment, killing him would have been no different to putting down a rabid creature. Yet he was aware Theseus was different to the Athenian youth sacrificed to him. 

Asterius sensed his death was nigh from the glint of the blade cutting through the air, the tip skimming his arm and drawing blood. Though he was afraid of the pain, so much that his surrender did not come readily. He resisted, shook the ground with each powerful step and parried with all his might. Through all the panic, not once did he retaliate. He fled, dove behind the chipped pillars of the chamber and shielded himself from every blow, terrified of what was coming. There was no malice in his actions and Theseus knew that, he felt it to the bone and wished, prayed to the gods that this would not become the struggle it grew to be. 

The metallic scent of blood soaked into his armour and the fabric of his chiton. He managed to wound the Minotaur twice, once to his side and a slash behind his knee. It was enough to disable him, leave him crawling away in agony and pain with every ragged breath shivering. 

Weary and exhausted, Theseus stumbled after him and pinned down the great beast. He straddled the body, finding it to be more bones than flesh. He grasped Asterius by a horn and produced a small blade, intending to sink the knife into his neck and finally sever him from the coil of mortality. Yet at the sight of the weapon, Asterius arose with fright once more and fought back. They scuffled, the blade lost in the brief battle before Theseus resorted to his fists. 

His knuckles burned and ached, yet he did not stop until he could only hear blood thundering in his ears. He didn’t want to hear the fearful crying of the beast, nor feel the grasping and begging hands clutching at his chiton in hopes he would put an end to this brutal pain. After what he had done to Asterius, Theseus could not afford to stop. He had to kill him and if it meant he had to do it with his bare hands, he did. 

The body was still and quiet. Theseus was soaked and the skin of his hands were cut from clashing with bone. He could not tell if this was his own blood. Regardless, the smell made his stomach stir and every sob forced him to draw another breath of the foul air. He wished he could have told Asterius to stop resisting, he wished this could have been easier. 

His vomit splashed against the stone floor. It was from everything, the scent of the bloated, uneaten corpses, seeing the mutilated face of the animal he just killed, going through the process of _knowing_ he was hurting Asterius and _knowing_ this was an innocent creature unable to fully comprehend the current situation, only capable of feeling every impact of each punch cracking through bone and flesh. 

The memory made him queasy. The wine churned in his stomach in the same way trepidation had wrung his guts those years prior. 

Theseus realised now the mere distance between their faces and how Asterius was looking at him, dark eyes reflecting the light bleeding through the tree canopy. He could feel every powerful breath from his companion, steady and composed unlike his former self in the Labyrinth. 

“And I will never forget that day,” Theseus told him, his brows furrowing upwards with sincerity. “You were so afraid. And I kept- I had to- do you remember it?” 

A pause lingered between them. It was impossible to tell what Asterius was thinking. He did not appear to be ruminating over it, his face as still as the surface of a pond. Theseus brought a hand to touch his face, smoothing a palm over the breadth of his jaw covered in hide. Asterius only responded to the act of affection and he pressed his cheek into the hand.

“You are such a beautiful being, my dear friend,” Theseus whispered, watery blue eyes taking in the magnificence of the creature before him. Blue like the oceans he described in his tales, like the laurels that adorned their hair in the heat of battle. Blue with the might of Poseidon and as aware as Asterius was of the very god to doomed him to such suffering, he could not find an ounce of contempt for his king. For Theseus was blameless for the actions of Poseidon in the same way Asterius knew he had no power over what his mother did, nor what King Minos did before that. He would not subject any son to the same traumas over the actions of a father. The guilt Theseus held for the brutality that occurred between them, Asterius desired nothing more than to free him of it, to remind him that this brief nightmare was pale in comparison to what they enjoyed in the current moment.

In Elysium, Asterius grew stronger. His hair was no longer stringy and thin, his hide held a warmer colour, his muscles full and thick with vigour. This was no longer the monster in the labyrinth, but a warrior. He fought with triumph and excitement, and the cheers from the shades made his chest swell with pride. He would drink wine and nectar and ambrosia until he was dizzy with joy, strewn out on the soft meadows with Theseus alongside him. The past did not occupy his mind for long nowadays.

“I remember, King,” Asterius finally answered, a large hand clasping over the back of Theseus’. His voice was a low rumble that thrummed deep into Theseus' heart and down to the marrow of his bones, words spoken with an air of aristocracy that was distant, almost fading. He closed his eyes and took in the comfort of this contact, of their hands and the heat of the palm pressed against his face. “But I implore you not to be upset. You freed me and you have taken me on to fight alongside you. That, that is an honour above all and I am indebted to you.” 

Theseus’ lips pressed into a thin, wobbly line and his chest rose with his sharp inhale. “Oh, Asterius,” he murmured under his breath, managing to maintain his composure. “Then I shan’t burden you with my tears,” he continued. “Forgive me for all this emotion. Still... I think back to what you were then and I struggle to believe that was you. I feel awful when I think of it.”

“The darkness makes beasts of anyone. It was an unpleasant experience for us both,” Asterius assured him and gave a soft huff, a habitual behaviour rather than an expression of exertion. 

They lay close enough for their bodies to touch. The pad of Theseus’ fingers rubbed little circles against the side of his face in a soothing manner and Asterius could make out the faint golden glint of his facial hair. The hand brushed against his ear and massaged the cool skin of his lobe before running down, following his snout. Theseus was conscious as not to offend him, unsure if Asterius minded the act of being petted, yet from the lack of refusal, he assumed this was okay. 

Asterius remained still and blinking, though relaxed from the comforting touch. His hand had been grasping Theseus’ other forearm, almost as an attempt to return these affections where he felt he could not in fear of dishonouring his king’s greatness in some way. Despite that, Theseus did not seem to care. He leaned in to press his lips against Asterius’ nose. The kiss was quick and chaste, but enough to demonstrate their extent of their closeness.

“You humble me so, friend,” Theseus told him, or rather, _admitted._ “You’re very dear to me. I do not want you to ever think otherwise.” 

Asterius’ ears flickered, his eyes appeared to smile as well. “I do not,” he spoke in assurance.

Their close proximity with one another brought him a kind of security which was rare to find nowadays. Elysium was vast and expansive, and Asterius had not been accustomed to this freedom. The open space was foreign to him, if not daunting. Yet down here with the bed of moss cushioning his body, the bark of the tree roots leaving imprints into his skin and the sight of Theseus before him, Asterius found the same feelings of closeness returning to him. The relief of returning to his comfort zone, accompanied by the rush of endorphins that came with Theseus’ firm touch cradling his jaw. 

They remained like this for the longest time, immune to any squeamish emotions that tried to creep up on them in this moment of intimacy. Asterius took Theseus’ hand and held it, lowering his gaze to study the faint scars on his knuckles. The very hands which freed him from the labyrinth. He longer feared them but found an intense adoration for them, how he could encapsulate them in his own and the way Theseus laughed at the difference between them. His hands were smaller, yet hardened with callouses where they gripped his spear and the skin stretched over his knuckles were scored with scars.

Where they laid on the ground, their chitons rode up on their legs and revealed the skin of muscular thighs. Nudity was not foreign to them, though Asterius had always felt, despite his lack of life experiences, that clothing often covered up the best features of his great king. For one, the curving contours of his quadriceps. 

This time, he was not caught up in the rights and wrongs of his actions. When he took Theseus’ hand and pressed the back of it against his lips, Asterius did not consider if this would be perceived as disrespectful. He didn’t need to. He saw how Theseus’ expression brightened with an appreciative smile, the corners of his eyes creasing ever so slightly. 

The moss was slightly damp where it pressed against the underside of their bodies, the moisture soaking up into the fabric of their clothes and warmed by their heat. Theseus reached to brush back the lock of loose hair falling upon Asterius’ forehead and he fixed his laurels, adjusting them where they were crooked. 

It was these wordless interactions that often left them with fond feelings with one another, the notion that their familiarity had grown to the extent that they needn’t hesitate to do minor acts like this. Theseus put his hands behind his head and took in a deep breath, sprawled out on the ground with his eyes closed and face tranquil of any worry, or perhaps it was the facade he chose to wear while thoughts continued to storm through his mind. Asterius was used to looking through the cracks and he did it now, an open eye admiring his king, tail gently swishing from side to side. 

**Author's Note:**

> One thing that caught me while I was researching for this fic was the many different interpretations of stories within Greek myth that I find very interesting. It gives me a little wiggle room, though I am still very new to writing in fandoms with very concrete backstories so forgive me if there are any absurdities in my work. I adore Asterius with like every atom of my being and there is a great sense of pity I have for him, especially with all the beautiful art that circulates on Twitter/Tumblr. He really is the sweetest and I love the thought that they can be tender with one another. 
> 
> My Twitter is [@CompoundZ8](https://twitter.com/CompoundZ8)  
> My Tumblr is [erc-7](https://erc-7.tumblr.com)


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